


Beggin'

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Archie Comics
Genre: After Riverdale, Beggie, Betty can do MUCH better than Archie Andrews imho, College AU, Cowbell, Drinking Games, F/M, No Curfew, Oral, SNL skits, frat party, het smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beggie. High school’s over. There’s no more curfew. Real life has begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggin'

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this to AFF ages and ages ago, and it wasn't until a lovely Tumblr follower made a GORGEOUS fanvid based on my other Beggie stories here that anyone pointed out to me that I never posted this story HERE. I have a scribble on DeviantArt of Betty wearing the outfit I described in this that I drew in Sai Paint. That sketch, and most of my others, are also on my Tumblr.

Betty wondered if she walked out of her dorm in nothing but her Hello Kitty boxers; nothing else could explain why she was getting so many stares and “How YOU doin’?” as she made her way to the campus Laundromat. She felt naked, or at least more vulnerable than usual. Her third week of state school found her a fish out of water, far removed from her small pond, and separated from her girlhood best friend.

It was frightening. It was intimidating. It was confusing. Yet, it was a rush.

Betty’s big, drawstring laundry bag weighed a ton. She felt foolish for letting it go that long and letting her clothes pile up; her mother would hang her head in shame if she’d seen her overflowing hamper and the clothes that had fallen off their hangers down to the bottom of her tiny closet from quick changes. Eight o’clock English Composition 101 waited for no one, let alone for her to find a pair of matching socks.

It was surreal, going out without calling Veronica before she left the house. She managed to email Betty every other day just to check in, and most of her messages sounded the same:

_Think the guy in my lit class is checking me out. Rush this week. I need a seventies disco outfit for a mixer. Might already have something like that by Versace at home. Headed to the student union for a latte. Byeeeeee…_

 

It was disjointed and unsettling, the night they said goodbye. After Veronica’s three-tier graduation cake was eaten down to mere crumbs and her other party guests had left, Betty retired with her to the Jacuzzi out back. They watched the stars and nibbled leftover pretzels, promising themselves a gym visit in the morning. Betty wondered how it would feel the following Monday to wake up and not have to get ready for class at Riverdale High. Veronica trailed her fingers through the swirling foam and sighed, giving Betty a weary smile.

“I’m gonna miss you. I wish you’d come with me to Stanford instead.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I wish.” But Betty was looking forward to state school. The campus was large and diverse, and it was located right in the middle of the city. She’d be able to get wherever she needed to go on the bus or student trolley, and there was an enormous bike park.

“I’m scared. I’m not going to know anybody. That’s why you should go with me.”

“Let me just wish that up and pull it out of my magic hat. Stanford costs a grip. I’m glad I qualified for aid at all and got a dorm.”

“I only want to live in a dorm for the first year. After that, Daddy says I can get an apartment, and he’ll pay my rent if I handle my own utilities.” Veronica pouted. “He wants me to be more independent.”

“I want to work part-time on campus,” Betty mused. “I’m going to be busting my butt all summer before I leave.”

“Don’t work every day,” Veronica scolded. “I need someone to go tanning with. Save me the peak hours.”

“Um… most bosses want you to work during the peak hours. That’s why they’re called _day jobs._ ” Veronica swatted the water, splashing Betty in the face. Betty snickered.

“Bitch.”

“You love me, anyway.”

“Don’t think you can’t be replaced,” Veronica threatened, but when Betty’s smile dropped, she backed down. “Kidding! I’m kidding.”

“No, you’re not.” Tears welled up in Betty’s eyes. “Damn it, you made me cry…”

“C’mere, sweetie.” Veronica stood dripping as she crossed the tub to sit beside her friend, and she hugged her fiercely. “BFFs til the end. You’re like my sister, you know that?”

“I know. You, too.”

“I still can’t talk you into Stanford? I can grovel some more if you want.” Veronica’s voice sounded wobbly and she sniffled into Betty’s shoulder.

“Bitch. I’ll miss you, too.”

 

One thing Betty noticed about spending so much time alone was that if anyone stared at her – any MAN – she found herself looking to one side, then the other, even behind herself, wondering if the stare was really for her. That’s when it occurred to her: Veronica wasn’t there to steal all the attention. They really WERE looking at her. It made her feel naked and self-conscious in ways that she hadn’t before. Yet, it was exciting and heady.

Betty didn’t have to worry about her wardrobe passing her mother’s inspection first thing in the morning anymore. Today she wore a pair of artfully ripped-up jeans and a three-quarter length sleeved baseball jersey, blinged out flip-flops and her hair in two messy pigtails. She put on some eye makeup just to please herself rather than impress anyone, but not in such a way as to attract any attention.

Her roommate, Lacey, was actually from Pembroke, something they laughed about on move-in day. It was a smaller world than she could have ever imagined when Lacey mentioned she went to school with Cheryl Blossom before she transferred to Riverdale. Lacey was refreshingly blunt, funny, and relatively bookish, even though she was still a little of a snob about things like never buying any other boxed mac and cheese but Kraft and shunning thrift stores. Betty knew they’d never be best friends, but she was a kick in the pants. Her side of the room was slightly messy but decorated in fancy throw pillows from Pier One and some gorgeous art posters.

Lacey went home on weekends to do her laundry. Betty couldn’t afford the gas money to go as often, so off she went to the fluff n’ fold. The roll of quarters made her purse feel like a lead weight on her shoulder. Betty stopped for a Starbucks mocha that cost as much as washing and drying three loads. She licked the whip from the domed lid as she opened the door to the Laundromat with her hip.

It was packed. It was Saturday. If she had thought ahead, Betty would have come in at the crack of dawn to beat the crowd. She managed to find one lonely little single loader washer that would be perfect for her whites. Betty plugged her iPod into her ears and measured out some All with bleach, hoping she didn’t lose a whole day to her dirty clothes.

Something red caught her attention, briefly, from the front window. She looked up and saw a dark-haired young man rush by, wearing a red shirt and black jeans. From the back, he looked oddly familiar; she thought she recognized his lanky walk and the nape of his neck. A spark of recognition hit her.

“Reggie?” she murmured. An elderly woman folding a stack of sweaters stared at her, but Betty excused herself. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. Just talking to myself.” The woman shrugged, smiled, then turned away as if to say _Who is this nutcase?_

Handling laundry herself, going to the tiny campus convenience store for food, paying her dorm phone bill at the student union, all of it felt grown-up to Betty. Writing her own checks and signing all of her own paperwork without any of it having a line that said “Parent or Guardian” on it was just bizarre. She felt she’d arrived when she registered to vote for the first time. Her student ID card picture was even worse than the one on her driver’s license, if that was possible, but it made her smile whenever she took it out of her purse. The novelty hadn’t worn off yet.

Betty found her mind drifting back to Reggie Mantle. Was that really him? She didn’t remember talking to him about state school before they wrapped up finals week. He’d stopped in at Veronica’s party, but then he excused himself, mentioning it was his first stop out of four for the night. 

 

He shook hands with Veronica’s parents and all of his teammates from basketball and football, and Betty felt a small, strange pang as she watched him. As he dutifully tasted the finger foods laid out in the dining room, he looked poised and confident, owning a charisma that her other classmates could never quite match; it was natural to him. His hair was newly trimmed for graduation night, and he abandoned his dress shirt and tie for a black polo and khakis. He was handsome enough to break hearts, and throughout their high school career, he had.

Betty approached him shyly, waiting for a moment when she wouldn’t interrupt him from talking with his friends. She stood by his elbow and waited to be acknowledged. When he wasn’t quick enough about it for her taste, Betty nudged him. She caught his eye and he smirked, something she was accustomed to.

“Hey. Glad you could make it.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it. Obviously.”

“Your partner in crime’s headed to Stanford. How’re you gonna manage?”

“I’ll have to learn how to dress and feed myself. But I think I’ll survive.” His brows drew together as he returned her smile.

“That doesn’t sound too promising. Cheer up. College is gonna be awesome. Just you wait. You won’t even think about Riverdale once you set foot in your dorm of your first class. I can’t wait for orientation week.”

“I know. I’m just scared to death.”

“Why? You’re smart. You’ve always been smart. You can handle the work, and you know how to hustle.” The compliment surprised her.

“It’s not like turning pennies gold in chemistry.”

“Nope. You get to pick your own classes, and if you’re smart, you’ll snap up the late ones so you can sleep in until noon.” His look was smug, and Betty knew that was his own action plan as soon as he left town.

“Geez…”

“Hey, no one says I can’t enjoy going away to school.”

“Don’t get kicked out your first semester, killer.”

“Never happen. I’m going to be a little angel.” He copped a solemn pose with praying hands. Betty swatted him, earning another smirk. “I’m gonna take off, though.”

“Already?” Betty was disappointed, and it was weird feeling that way. She and Reggie were never exceptionally close, but she liked him. He could be a jerk. An asshole, even. But it was hard to hold a grudge against Reggie Mantle for long. There was something disarming beneath the ego, something vulnerable lurking under the surface of Riverdale’s class clown. On those rare moments where Reggie let anyone in, he was blunt and very, very real. 

He was a showboat. If there was one thing that she was good at, having a bestie who also craved the spotlight, it was being a good listener and captive audience. It was no fun being a great athlete, guitar player, dancer, public speaker, and again, class clown, if you didn’t have anyone to show off for. Veronica Lodge was always “the one that got away,” no matter how much he chased her, but she always went running to Archie. While Betty was approachable, and certainly cute, Veronica just had… pizzazz. There was something that got his motor running about inaccessible girls that made him work harder to keep their interest. Reggie was the kind of man who needed to constantly prove himself. It validated him.

Betty sighed. “Well, it was good that you could come out for a little while.” She held out her hand initially for him to shake, but then changed her mind. “Is it okay if I get a hug?”

“Oh, if I have to,” he allowed, as though she was twisting her arm, but when she stepped into his embrace, it was warm, snug and very, very cozy. Betty was a “back rubber” when she hugged, one of her endearing traits, and his back was broad and hard through his polo shirt. His cologne was slightly woody, well-suited to his body chemistry and mingling with his detergent. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, not realizing she was burying her nose in his shoulder. She enjoyed the new, foreign experience, disappointed that it would probably be the last time.

Reggie wondered how things had gone from friendly one moment to just… weird. Not bad, not by any stretch. But it felt unreal, holding Betty Cooper, resident goody two-shoes, in his arms like a girl at prom. She felt good against him, and his hands automatically drifted to the soft curve of her lower back. It wasn’t a back-clapping “man hug” that he gave most of the other girls he knew so far that night; even Big Ethel received one of those.

She drew him in. She felt so… comfortable, so yielding against him, like she was really enjoying getting so close. What was stranger was the sense of his arms not obeying his mind’s commands to let her go. His fingers tightened in her blonde ponytail; he didn’t realize when they had tangled in it, clutching its softness. It smelled like flowers.

“Get a room,” Jughead muttered at him, breaking their reverie. Reggie grunted in annoyance. Betty snickered, but her eyes didn’t agree with her mouth. She seemed sad.

“See you around.”

“Hopefully.” His wave was brief before he moved back through the crowd. When he left, her eyes followed him out the door.

 

Betty trudged back to the residence hall and spent the rest of her afternoon sending out postcards from the campus bookstore, giving herself a pedicure, and catching an aerobics class at the rec center. Lacey came back just before six. Her light brown hair was freshly permed, and like Betty, she decided it was a mani-pedi day.

“Clear your calendar for tonight. You’re going with me to a kegger.”

“Ew. I don’t even like beer.” Betty also didn’t like the prospect of walking to someone’s house or apartment at night to avoid getting into a car with people who had been drinking. She grew used to seeing crowds of students, most incoming freshmen like her, parading down the sidewalks with red plastic cups, heading to the frat houses for mixers. She didn’t like how irresponsible it felt or the risk of being in someone’s front yard when the police showed up to handle noise complaints.

“My older brother’s bringing other stuff, too. We can have him get us wine coolers and rum and Coke.”

“Eh. It’s no big deal. It’s not really my thing.”

“Aw. Come out with me,” Lacey pouted. “You need to meet some new people. Don’t be such a hermit. We can get all gussied up and talk to all the hot guys.” That made Betty wistful.

Archie hadn’t returned any of her emails since summer. Some foolish part of Betty hoped that absence would make his heart grow fonder, somehow. That same part of her wished he’d “wait for her” and that she could see him over the holidays at home. It kept her going, somehow. Betty was still homesick.

Lacey was already stalking over to Betty’s closet, rifling through her hangers. “What’ve you got that’s sexy?”

“Are you kidding? Nothing.”

“This skirt. Okay. We can work with his.” Lacey pulled out Betty’s denim skirt. “After we make some adjustments.”

“Um… hold up. What’s with the scissors?”

“This thing’s taking up too much real estate. It needs to be downsized.” WHACK. Snip, snip, snap. One third of Betty’s skirt was lying on the floor. Betty was appalled.

“What. Have. You. Done. I can’t believe you just… mutilated my favorite skirt. You must be out of your flippin’ mind.” She eyed Lacey, who was grinning, then her skirt, then Lacey again.

“Much better.” She held it up to Betty’s waist and nodded in approval. The hem was way, way above her knees now, ensuring Betty wouldn’t be able to bend over without flashing everyone in the next three neighborhoods. “Okay. Top. We need a top.” Lacey bypassed Betty’s tiny bureau and headed for her own trunk. “We can work with this. Ooh. Ooh, ooh. This. Definitely this.” Lacey dug out a black, backless handkerchief halter top that tied around the neck and just under her shoulder blades. Betty’s mouth dropped open.

“That’ll give me a draft. Scratch that. A chest cold. You’re trying to kill me.”

“No. All the guys will die from your hotness in this top. You’ve got the bod, Bets. Work it.”

“Eeek.” Yet Betty held up the top against herself with interest, turning slightly in the mirror. Excitement bloomed in her gut.

What the heck. Why not?

 

Betty was right. The outfit gave her a draft.

The late autumn heat of the day faded into a slightly breezy night, so Betty added a cropped denim jacket, despite Lacey’s protests. By the time she caught her reflection, however, Betty still didn’t recognize herself.

Lacey insisted she wear her hair down, and she held her down, kicking in screaming, while she had her way with the curling iron and hair dryer. Lacey gave her a messy, softly curled blowout did her makeup, lining Betty’s eyes in dark brown liner and smoky shadow. She talked her into a darker lip color instead of her customary tourmaline pink, painting her mouth into a deep, luscious mauve pout. Sassy little high-heeled sandals shod her feet, complete with an ankle bracelet that Veronica gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

When they locked up and headed down the corridor, Betty heard a few whistles and blushed.

“Whoa.” That was Trula, another Riverdale transplant. She was majoring in journalism and mass media and had worked with Betty on the Blue and Gold. “I’ve got to get a picture of this. Hold still.”

“That better not go on your Facebook.”

“Of course it’s going on my Facebook.” Lacey sidled up to Betty and leaned up against her, pouting and posing like a porn star. Betty swatted her hands away; her mother would faint if she caught wind of a photo like that.

“We’re going to Mike’s over on Orange Street.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. If you do, put it on YouTube so we can all laugh about it tomorrow.”

“You’d better bail me out, worst case scenario,” Betty warned her. Trula winked.

They turned more heads as they passed the game room downstairs and crossed the front lobby.

“That’s Betty? Tell me that’s not Betty Cooper,” she heard someone comment from the pool table.

“Nice.”

“Pass me a Kleenex. I’m drooling.”

“Um… digits, please?” another one called out.

“See?” Lacey elbowed her. “Quit sticking your head in the sand. You’re a hottie.”

“This just… isn’t me.”

“Betty, it _could_ be. Just go with it.”

 

*

 

Reggie worked slowly on his second cup of Keystone, making a face. It didn’t taste much better than the first, but he enjoyed the beginnings of the mellow buzz it gave him, glad that he didn’t have class the next day. His week was one big blur, and it felt good to cap it off with a party and loosen up.

Rush week had been hell, full of meetings, interviews, ordering a copy of his transcripts, making time for two fundraisers and memorizing the Greek alphabet. If having a half an hour of homework in every subject in high school was a bear, having an hour of reading every night in college, complete with mini theses, essays and lab reports was grueling. But his classes were exciting, and it felt good to push himself and meet new people.

Scratch that. His roommate was excluded from that category. Cedric hailed from Pembroke Academy, a fact that lost its “Wow, small world” novelty after an hour in his company. Reggie was pretty flexible in his taste in music, but Cedric’s death metal had to go. He snored and talked in his sleep. He bragged endlessly about his car, his girlfriends, his house and the countries he’d traveled to with his parents. He borrowed Reggie’s deodorant and toothpaste and kept bringing weird girls into their dorm. He had an annoying laugh and he talked to Reggie first thing in the morning on his days when his classes started late, so Reggie never got to sleep in. Cedric didn’t think of anyone but himself.

How could anyone act like that? Reggie was glad _he_ wasn’t that selfish…

Reggie mingled a while with Mike’s friends. His roommates were a kick in the pants, and there was a fantastic ratio of single girls to guys on the guest list. Reggie parked himself in the kitchen and people-watched from beside the keg, which paid off well. The girls noticed him, and he drew stares and furtive smiles from across the room. Reggie planned is openers in his head and simply waited for the right girl to take the bait.

In the back of his mind, Reggie wondered why he almost felt lonely in such a crowded house.

 

Betty immediately felt self-conscious as a huge, jocky-looking guy with dark hair holding a red beer cup let them inside. “Hey! C’mon in! You friends of Mike’s?”

“He told us he was having a shindig,” Lacey assured him, holding out her hand. His grip was firm, and he was reluctant to let her go, looking like she did. Lacey gave him a smug look. “Wanna invite us in, big guy?”

“Sure!” He let go of her hand and gently ushered her inside, taking the opportunity to touch the small of her back. He almost shut the door until Betty spoke up.

“Um… excuse me?” she murmured, waving. He made a sound of embarrassment and grinned, swinging the door wide.

“Hey, kiddo, I got… distracted. Wow. You look… nice. Um, you both look nice. C’mon in. Have a beer, or something.”

"I'm fine for right now," Betty began, but Lacey hooked her arm through Betty's and tugged her along.

"Where's the keg?"

"That way," their giant host beamed, looking like he'd hit the jackpot. He watched Betty's legs and tight, round butt walking away in the tiny scrap of a skirt and drooled.

It felt surreal to Betty to see so many people glance her way in such a crowded room. A few girls eyed her, assessing her, and she looked away. Lacey found them each a red cup and Mike pumped the keg, filling them with the cheap, foamy beer.

"You clean up nice, Bets," he mentioned casually. "No more pigtails?"

"Not if I can help it," Lacey warned her. "She was channeling Heidi of the Alps, or Little Bo Peep this week. The pigtails dominated today, too."

"Pffft..." Betty tsked and shook her head, blushing furiously as Mike handed her the drink. She took an experimental sip of the beer and almost gagged. Blech. "Um... I hate to be rude, but... is there anything else?"

"Not a beer girl? I'm sorry, Betty. Look, we've got a little of everything here. Tequila, vodka and Red Bull, rum and Coke, wine coolers..."

"Give her a wine cooler," Lacey encouraged. Before Betty could protest, Lacey took her beer away from her, and Mike tucked a Bartles and Jaymes strawberry daiquiri into her hand.

"Thanks." Betty had plain Coke in mind, but she decided to step out on that limb. The first swallow went down easily and reminded her of Kool-Aid with a kick.

"Better?"

"Definitely. Thanks."

"Don't pound too many of 'em. You'll regret it."

"I'll be fine." But Betty already felt a funny little tickle in her head and fought the urge to giggle. Was that what a buzz felt like? She decided not to overthink it and had another sip. Sipping wasn't pounding, was it?

 

"I switched my major to Economics because Fashion and Merchandising was impacted," a nasal brunette with long legs informed Reggie as he tried not to yawn. "So, what do you do?"

"I'm in school full-time," Reggie shrugged. "My journalism classes involve labs every week working on the campus paper."

"Oh, cool. So you're into writing." Reggie heard the question in her tone. He schooled himself not to give her a flip reply but squelched his good intentions when she did a little hair flip over her shoulder.

"Nah. It's just what I do when I'm not on the couch with my hand down my pants."

"What?" Her nose wrinkled in distaste, even though she tried to smile.

"Sorry." He smiled disarmingly, and she nodded like she'd been in on the joke.

"Silly. You're so cute." Reggie cringed and took another hearty gulp of beer. It was going to be a long night. He wondered if it was too soon to claim that he had to pee. "Where are you from again?" He hadn't told her yet.

"Riverdale."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. We drove through there once and stopped at a gas station for a hot dog when my parents were taking us to Central City. It seemed cute."

"The gas station?"

"No! Duh. The town." She lightly socked his arm, making the excuse to touch him. Reggie's beer began to taste really, really good to him, and he nodded and raised his cup to his mouth, avoiding the temptation to let more zingers fly.

She took up his physical space, and it made it impossible to focus on anyone else in the kitchen. He was trapped between her and the refrigerator, and he futilely hoped someone would tell him to get out of the way so they could get the bean dip, tuna casserole, even chopped liver to give her reason to move away from him... Her voice began to annoy him, and he had a hard time not staring at her teeth, or the space between her brows. The commotion in the kitchen as people hovered around the keg and the bottles on the counter made the noise level rise until she was speaking to him at a near shout. Just what he needed. 

 

Betty tried to listen politely to one of Mike's roommates tell her about a ski trip he'd taken to Vail, nodding at all the right moments, but her mind started to wander. She felt out of place. It wasn't like any of the parties at Ron's house, obviously, where she knew everyone, knew where the rest room was, had the full run of the house if she needed to break away for a minute, and where she could go home any time she was ready. This was a different crowd. Some of the faces were vaguely familiar; a few people approached her and asked which residence hall she lived in or mentioned that they'd seen her at the laundromat. But mainly she just suffered the small talk, feeling no one made more than a surface effort at sussing her out or getting to know her. Betty sighed into her wine cooler as she worked down half of it. Mike got bonus points for stocking good drinks, she decided. The noises and voices around her began to melt together into a droning din. She wondered how she ended up there, in that moment, feeling adrift. Lacey was ignoring her plight, fully ensconced in the Vail trip rehash and drinking Betty's abandoned beer after she finished her own.

 _Homesick_.

That was it. That was the element she couldn’t name, the feeling that she couldn’t describe or quite put her finger on until that moment. She felt oddly hollow. It was the same strange confusion she felt on her very first day of kindergarten, a scared little girl wondering who to approach at the four-square court to ask for a turn. Was she carrying the right backpack. Did she have on barrettes that matched her dress. Would someone think she was a baby if she cried when her mother drove out of the parking lot.

“Betty’s from Riverdale, too.” Betty snapped out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She smiled up at them and Lacey elbowed her. “Wake up!”

“I’m awake,” she claimed halfheartedly.

“She’s lying.”

“Am not.” Betty pretended to glare over the rim of her bottle, then surprised herself when she found it almost empty.

“Uh-oh. Someone needs a refill.” Before Betty could protest, her bottle was taken from her hand and another was tucked into it.

“I’m not even that thirsty...”

“Who said anything about thirsty? Lacey, Betty looks like she’s dying of thirst.”

“Parched,” Lacey corrected him. Betty cut her eyes at her, making her roommate snort. “Right. I’ll shut up, now.”

Reggie looked up at the sound of someone in the room mentioning “Riverdale.” He gently squeezed Miss Personalities shoulder and said “Sorry, just a sec.” He sidestepped her and mentioned aloud, “Who’s from Riverdale?”

Betty’s ears perked up at the familiar voice, and her heart raced. No. It couldn’t be... could it? She turned around, and time seemed to grind to a halt, all of the people and noise around her fading away.

Reggie. The same lazy smile greeted her, reaching easily up to his dark brown eyes. He was laidback in jeans and a green, short-sleeved plaid shirt that snapped up the front. The summer had agreed with him; he had a remnant of a tan and a hint of highlights in his black hair.

“Bets!” He completely forgot about the girl standing beside him, and he ignored her tsk of annoyance as she abandoned him.

This wasn’t Betty Cooper.

This girl... this vision... was a knockout. This girl spoke with Betty’s midwestern twang and pleasant alto, but she wasn’t dressed like Betty by far. What was up with the skirt? Better yet, where was the rest of it? He snapped his eyes up, way up, away from her gorgeous legs and dutifully focused them on her face. On that mouth, glossed in rich, deep pink. Okay... that might have been a mistake, too. Reggie’s own mouth went bone dry.

Cerulean blue eyes laughed at him and seemed to eat him up.

“Wow,” she murmured. “This isn’t happening. Reggie. Reggie Mantle. You’re not standing right here in front of me this far from Riverdale!”

“Uh... yeah. I kind of am.” Happiness bubbled up in her gut, and Betty engulfed him in a hug without waiting for permission.

“Oof!”

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, breathing in his scent. There it was. That smell... he owned it, even if another man wore cologne like that, their body chemistry wouldn’t make it smell the same way.

“Betty, who’s this man you’re mauling to death over here?” Lacey demanded.

“We went to Riverdale High,” Reggie explained. “Reggie Mantle.” He offered her his hand to shake when Betty pulled back, but she didn’t completely let go of him. Betty turned and wrapped her arm around Reggie’s waist while they made introductions.

“He’s lying. We went to grade school together, too. I’ve spent the past thirteen years listening as part of this guy’s captive audience.”

“You did? Wow. Betty Cooper listened to me? Who knew?” Reggie “Hm?”-ed and shrugged. Betty poked him.

“You knew.” He wrapped his arm around her neck companionably, pleased that he found her. It felt unreal.

“You’re out past curfew.”

“You can be my lookout when I sneak back in through the window.”

“I never had curfew,” Lacey shrugged.

“Must have been nice,” Betty grumbled.

“Betty’s a nice girl,” Reggie explained, putting emphasis on it and making finger quotes.

“Ah. I kinda got that about her.”

“Nice. Not nerdy,” Betty clarified.

“Maybe a little... a teensy-weensy...?” Reggie held up his finger and thumb, indicating the tiny gap between them. Betty socked him.

“You’re mean.”

“You knew that.”

“It’s a front,” Betty explained. Mike’s roommate, Frank, nodded and offered Reggie another beer. Reggie nodded, but he took a single gulp of this one and nursed it, finally enjoying the conversation enough not to need a distraction.

As the crowd swelled in the kitchen and the noise around them closed in on her, the only voice that Betty heard was his, while she breathed in his scent, felt the warmth of his hand at her back.

 

*

 

They lingered within range of each other, even as they mingled with other guests, never gravitating far from the kitchen, until a sudden burst of laughter filled the living room.

"What's going on?" Betty murmured as Reggie appeared by her elbow. His left brow cocked and he shrugged.

"C'mon." They headed toward the living room and found the stereo turned down on low volume, while the television blared. Every seat was occupied, and the room was packed to the rafters. The channel was turned to an episode of Saturday Night Live. "Man, I love this skit!" Reggie snickered, elbowing Betty.

"Which one is it?"

"The cowbell one with Will Ferrell."

"I never saw that one."

"It's awesome. Move in where you can see." Reggie had a good point; Betty was having a difficult time seeing the set around so many tall guys. He elbowed his way toward the front of the group, tugging her along with him. Betty was surprised that they parted and made room for them both, and she garnered a few admiring glances.

His grip felt warm around her hand. She felt herself shiver, cheeks flushing warmly. Reggie tugged her in front of him and nodded to the screen. Betty snickered at the sight of the cast in sixties and seventies clothes and shag wigs, noticing Will's hip hugger pants, velour top that exposed his belly and a nappy, permed wig. She felt warm and fuzzy, and she found everything funnier than usual; she usually didn’t watch much SNL.

“I’m Bruce Dickinson... yes, the Bruce Dickinson,” she watched Christopher Walken announce. Betty giggled.

“This is silly.”

“Drink!” Mike called out. 

“Huh?”

“Drink if you want,” Reggie coached. “Every time you hear the buzz word in the skit, you drink.”

“What’s the buzz word?” Betty looked mystified. Reggie smirked; she was cute, even when clueless.

“There’s two of them. Dickinson, and cowbell.”

“Why cowbell?”

“You’ll see.” She took his word for it, then gradually noticed that he was standing behind her, close enough that her back grazed his front. The “band” in the episode began playing “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” which tickled her, but then Will Ferrell began beating a small cowbell in the background. She found herself giggling, then busting up when Christopher walked back into the studio set.

“It needs more cowbell!”

“Drink!” Mike cried out. Betty took a small sip of her wine cooler.

“Wimp,” Reggie chided her. “Gulp it!”

“I don’t like to gulp. I sip. I take swallows,” she informed him haughtily.

Lacey came up behind them and overheard Betty’s statement, and she choked on her beer, feeling it squirt up into her sinus cavity. 

Her roomie didn’t just say out loud that she swallowed. Lord help her...

“Oh. Heh. You _swallow_?” Reggie was torn between a look of caution and his usual smirk. His eyebrows nearly flew up into his hairline.

“I just don’t gulp. What? I said something funny?”

“No. Uh, not... really...” She heard Mike call out again when the word “cowbell” popped up again onscreen.

“COWBELL! DRINK UP!”

“Swallow,” Reggie told her.

“I will,” she sniffed, taking another sip of her wine cooler, then a second one when they repeated the word.

I will. The two little words echoed in Reggie’s head and stirred up visions that could undo him. Watching Betty’s throat work down the alcohol and hearing the slightly relaxed tone of her voice was doing things to him, wicked things that she didn’t need to know about.

Will Ferrell’s character was giving the song “more cowbell” and dancing like a fool. Betty laughed so hard her stomach hurt. 

Betty had a nice laugh. Reggie stopped paying attention to the skit and felt his mouth go dry. She peered back at him and her brows drew together above her tentative smile. “What?”

“Nothing?”

“Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

My mouth. Reggie squashed down the voice that nagged him to grab hold of her. “Uh-uh. Looks fine.” Fiiiiiiine... damn it. There it was, again.

“Drink!”

“Cowbell!” Betty chuckled as she took a gulp this time.

“That looked like a gulp.”

“Just a little swallow.”

Damn it damn it damniidamnitdamnit... she was killing him. Reggie felt his pants grow tight again and his flesh was straining to life between his legs.

“You’re not drinking,” Betty noticed. Reggie peered down at his full cup and shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile.

He looked sexy when he did that.

“Bets. Let’s go.” Lacey smiled demurely at Reggie and looped her arm through Betty’s, practically giving her the bum’s rush from the room.

“Where are we go-”

“Powder your nose. Me, too. C’mon.”

“Back in a sec,” Betty promised Reggie, amusement coloring her tone. She shrugged helplessly. Reggie saluted her as they left, then sighed heavily. That was a mess... Lacey glanced back and gave him a poisonous look before they disappeared into the corridor.

“Betty, have I taught you nothing?” Lacey accused as she kicked the bathroom door shut behind them. Betty nearly gagged on the scent of male cologne and aftershave, sweat socks and damp bath towels that lingered in the rest room, reminding herself that men lived there. Lacey took a tiny comb from her purse and touched up her hair, scolding Betty as she glanced critically at both of their reflections. “What was up with you out there?”

“Nothing. I was just playing the game.”

“That wasn’t the only game you were playing at. Did you see him staring at you? And did you hear the words coming out of your mouth? That’s it. No more wine for you.” Lacey made her point by taking the quarter-full bottle from her and setting it on the vanity.

“You sound like the Soup Nazi.”

“I’m serious. Betty. Think about what you said out there.”

“What?”

“That you swallowed?” Lacey accused.

“Um... so?”

“Swallowed. Hello? What are they teaching you at Riverdale?”

“I don’t see what the big... oh. Wait...” It dawned on her what her roommate was getting at. Lacey made a head-slapping gesture and a “What were you thinking?” look at her.

“Swallowed. You. Told. Him. You swallowed.”

“Shit.” Betty turned bright red. “Okay. I blame it on the wine coolers.”

“How many have you had?”

“Um...” Betty held up her fingers, silently counting them. Lacey’s brows drew together when she held up four. Betty opened up her mouth to defend herself, and a hiccup escaped her instead. Lacey snickered.

“See?”

“Geez.” Betty turned bright red. 

“You’re buzzed.”

“Just a little.”

“Scratch that. You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“You’re past ‘buzzed.’ Probably passed two drinks ago.”

“Did I sound like an idiot?”

“Nah. I’ve heard worse. But I just don’t want you getting into something you can’t get out of.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Did you notice anything about your old pal Reggie?” Lacey looked askance at Betty as she applied a fresh coat of lip gloss.

“Like what?”

“That he has the hots for you.”

“No. Please!” Betty looked scandalized. “No, he doesn’t. He always had a thing for Veronica.”

“She’s not here,” Lacey reminded her. “I don’t see her anywhere around here. He was looking at you. Staring. Practically drooling.”

“No. That’s just... no. Not Reg. He was never interested in me that way.”

“Why the hell not? You’re nice. You’re cute, when you take the time to do anything with yourself.”

“He thinks I’m a nerd. I might as well be Jughead.”

“Wait... who? You have a friend named...?”

“Jughead,” Betty informed her, chuckling. “He’s been that since kindergarten.”

“What’s his real name?”

“Forsythe.”

“Yeek. No wonder.”

“Jug’s a little bit of a nerd. Reggie’s always felt that way about me, too. He pulled my pigtails when we were little. Or he made me squirt myself in the nose at the water fountain when he walked by and surprised me.” Betty rolled her eyes at the memory, then hiccupped again.

“Gum.” Lacey fished out a piece and pressed it into her hand.

“You’re a lifesaver. I hate hiccups.” She unwrapped it and chewed it quickly and checked her face in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lipstick was fading to a halo around the outer edge of her lips. “I need a touch-up.”

“Here.” Lacey grabbed her face and fixed her lipstick for her. “You’re tipsy. You’ll go out of here looking like Bozo or the Joker in Dark Knight if you do it yourself.” Betty sighed. “Take some Tylenol before bed tonight. You’re gonna feel like hell tomorrow.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Betty insisted again.

“You told Reggie, a guy who you say thinks you’re a nerd, that you swallow. Repeatedly.”

“Grrrrrrr...”

“Hey. Look at it this way: He doesn’t think you’re a nerd anymore.”

 

*

Betty made her way back toward the living room, but Reggie wasn’t there, to her dismay. She caught up to Mike in the kitchen, where he was entertaining his friends with football stories. She tapped his arm to interrupt him briefly. “Have you seen Reggie?”

“Reg? Oh, Mantle. Yeah. He went that way.” He pointed to the back door. Betty’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“He left?”

“No. Just went outside.” She smiled and sighed in relief.

“You’re a prince. Thank you.” As she exited, tiptoeing through the crowd, Mike whistled under his breath. His roommate sidled up to him and elbowed him.

“She spoken for?”

“Looks like it now. You snooze, you lose, man.”

“Shit.” He gulped down his beer and threw up his hands.

 

*

Reggie contemplated the sky and fiddled with a blade of grass, tearing it to bits. His beer sat ignored beside him where he lounged in a web-backed chair. It was getting late and the early fall warmth was giving way to a faint chill, but he felt fine. A few girls stopped him on his way outside and chatted him up, but Reggie needed some fresh air and time with his thoughts.

Betty found him looking pensive, nothing like his usual smug self. He wasn’t surrounded by a crowd of girls; she decided he seemed almost naked without a ring of admirers. She approached him shyly, trying not to stumble in the heels as she walked over the grass.

“Hey.” She gently touched his shoulder, and he craned his neck around to glance up at her. His smirk came back.

“Did you go along to make sure your roomie didn’t fall in?”

“It was a close call,” Betty muttered. In more ways than one. Betty shuddered at the thought of the words that came out of her mouth earlier, and she wondered how big an idiot - or a hussy - Reggie thought she was now.

The wind caught her hair and made it blow softly around her face. The lights from the kitchen’s back door caught the blond tresses and backlit them, making her almost glow. “What-cha doo-in’?” she asked him playfully.

“Hangin’ out. Getting some air.”

“It was getting stuffy in there,” Betty agreed. She stifled a yawn.

“Am I boring you?” He looked affronted. She laughed.

“Nope.”

“Long day?”

“Yup.”

“Sit.” He pulled up a chair for her, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine.” The chair looked like it hadn’t been hosed down in a while; she wrinkled her nose. The house was definitely inhabited by young, single men.

“You sure?” He got up to offer her his, but she shook her head again, squeezing his shoulder and giving him a little push down.

“You’re fine. I’m good.”

Are you? his mind screamed. She took her hand away.

He wasn’t having it. He caught her hand and squeezed it, keeping her from going too far. “Hang out with me.”

“I looked for you a minute ago. I thought you left.”

“Not without saying goodbye. I’m not a jerk.”

“I never said you were,” she said haughtily. “You seem mellow.”

“So I’m usually uptight.”

“Yeah.” Reggie sputtered. Betty snickered. “No. Not really.”

“Kind of uptight?”

“A weensy, teensy bit.”

“Geez...”

“It’s not bad. You just seem like you worry a lot about what people think of you.” She never let go of his hand, and her thumb was gently stroking his skin. It had the effect of soothing his ruffled ego.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“You worked hard at it. You’ve always had to be the best at everything.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You don’t get tired of it sometimes?”

“Don’t you?” he challenged. “Cheerleading? Basketball? Drama club? Student newspaper? Honor Society? Bake sales? Booster club? Dance decorating committees?” He ticked off the list on his free hand, then on hers, making her laugh.

“I’m not the best at anything,” she told him.

“Better than most people, at anything you try.” He played with her hand, then tugged it. “You’re standing too far away, and you’re making my neck sore from looking up at you. Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re still too far away.” His expression was accusing but relaxed, and his tone coaxed her to stay. “I don’t bite.”

“I don’t know,” she teased. “You look like you might act naughty any minute. The Big Bad Wolf dressed up in Red Riding Hood’s granny’s dress.”

“I don’t have a granny dress, last time I checked.” He invited her again, and his eyes... they changed. Betty watched his eyes pin her, roaming over her, and his pupils... dilated. She caught her breath as he gave her hand another insistent tug.

She went slight weak in the knees as she found herself standing between his spread knees, and she sank obediently to his lap. It felt automatic, natural... and strange. The khaki fabric of his slacks felt slightly rough but warm beneath her thighs, and she felt her body suddenly heat up with the close, intimate contact. “Now you look more comfy, and you’ve saved my neck,” Reggie murmured as he stroked her lower back.

“It is comfy,” she husked. “You’re a pal.”

“I try.”

She ran out of things to say and suddenly found her hands interesting where they rested in her lap. He felt her close up, and her expression was girlish and vulnerable. “You cold?”

“I’m okay.” The wind played with her hair, lifting it.

“No ponytail tonight?” He reached up and tucked a strand of it behind her ear, then another one that got stuck in her lipstick. His fingertip grazed her smooth cheek and his palm felt so warm at her back. He was solid beneath her and he smelled so good, so male, and her senses were sharpened as her buzz began to fade. She focused on him fully, and the music and noise inside seemed fade away.

“No. I got talked out of it.”

“It’s soft.”

“Thanks.”

“It changes your whole face.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Only as long as it doesn’t get in the way.” She looked puzzled. His expression wasn’t smug now, just pensive. He was staring into her face, making her self-conscious, and her stomach quivered. Her heart followed suit by skipping a beat, then fluttering like a moth’s wings.

“Of what?”

His fingers returned to her cheek, stroking her satiny skin. “Reggie?” she murmured. 

“Can I?” he inquired. His voice was a low husk. His index finger stroked the graceful slope of her jaw, resting beneath her chin and encouraging her to lean down toward him. She obediently inclined her face down, closer, until she could smell his breath and feel it misting over her lips.

“You can,” she whispered, and she closed those few millimeters of space between them and brushed her lips over his waiting mouth. His felt oh, so warm and supple, and Betty felt herself go up in flames.

Chaos erupted inside him and Reggie’s brain short-circuited as she claimed his mouth. Shy, sweet, unassuming Betty Cooper was turning him inside-out with a kiss that was feather-light, then followed by another, just slow brushes of her lips that sought to get to know him, feel him... taste him. She gently nibbled on his upper lip, and he felt himself returning the play, leaning up into it while his palm caressed her back. His other hand combed through that silky hair, holding it curtained back from her face as he breathed into her mouth. She moaned over how good he felt, how easily she melted into him. She cupped his jaw, feeling his taut skin, smooth but with the impending threat of whiskers; dark men like Reggie were more prone to five o’clock shadow. Her hand crept into the back of his hair and caressed his nape.

She drove him crazy. Reggie went hard as a rock, and every nerve in his body woke up with a jolt. Betty felt him shudder beneath her and heard his low hum of appreciation that turned into a groan when she nipped his lip.

That changed everything. He opened for her, urging to yield to what brewed between them, and the kiss quickly turned hot, almost feverish. His thumb was stroking that sensitive spot behind her ear and her fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt. He tasted the wine she drank, felt the velvety stroke of her tongue, exploring his mouth, sampling his essence. She didn’t hold anything back; she shared her passion for him, completely unchecked.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a girl without thinking of when he had to bring her home. He was away from his parents and she had no curfew. It was a weekend and they didn’t have to be at class the next day. They were adults. They were attracted to each other. They didn’t have to retreat to a car and park somewhere secluded to make out and wonder if they could hold back after making it to second base. None of their friends would gossip about them in the halls the next day, because their friends, the ones that mattered, weren’t there.

It was just Reggie and Betty, outside on a starry night, when it wasn’t a school night, fusing together with an urgent need that frightened her. Every few kisses she punctuated with a small moan, and she never stopped stroking him, exploring the planes of his shoulders and the cords of muscle in his arms, his taut neck, his glossy hair that felt so crisp when she ran her fingers through it.

His hands were locked around her shapely hips while her hair blew loosely, tickling his face. He took from her, feeling her strain against him, as though she wanted to crawl inside him. She made no pretense at being a “nice girl” or of wanting to pull back. She didn’t want him to “cease and desist.” Her touch and kiss didn’t tease him; they claimed him, demanded more of him.

He came up for air first, and her eyes were clouded with lust, hair wild, cheeks and lips flushed. He was panting. Heaven help him. So was she, making her luscious breasts rise and fall so temptingly. “We can stop here, if you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No. But it doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Okay.”

“You want me.” It was a question and a statement. He nodded, one brief motion, eyes pinning her. His hands squeezed her hips; he never wanted to let go of her, and the way she looked at him was driving him nuts.

Betty. Elizabeth Cooper. In his lap, responding to his kiss, on the brink of something that would change everything between them. Reggie felt panic rising in his chest. What if she...? What if things got weird between...?

“Then I want you,” she replied.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears in the next beat.

“You want me.”

“Really badly.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I walked here.”

“We’ll cab it.” Reggie knew he’d been drinking that night, and he didn’t want to worry the next day about who would drive him back in his car, or if he would have to walk back the next day to pick it up. Weekends meant more check points, and Mike’s music blasted out into the yard. Betty’s knees were weak as she stood, but he supported her, and she sagged against him for a moment. “You’re not walking anywhere right now.”

“Bet I couldn’t if I tried.” Her voice sounded wobbly and slightly desperate.

“It’s okay.” He leaned down and kissed her again, because she looked too sexy to hold back.

A quick 411 call and several goodbyes later, Betty said good night to Lacey and told Mike she had a good time. It didn’t escape anyone’s attention that Betty and Reggie’s hands were linked in a death grip. They made their way through the crowd to the front door, and scant moments later found themselves tucked into the back seat of a cab. He held back the urge to attack her again, but her hand drifted to his thigh, squeezing it. He felt his hardness trying to wave up at him and he caught her hand, giving her a brief “Behave yourself” kiss. She read him loud and clear and settled against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. They listened to the sounds of traffic outside and low hum of oldies rock on the dilapidated radio. Betty heard her own heart pounding in her ears and Reggie’s soft, low breathing.

She was surprised when they stopped at a 7-Eleven. “Give me a sec. I just need to stop for something.”

“Meter’s running.”

“That’s fine.” Betty fretted that a high fare might not be in his student budget; it certainly wasn’t in hers, and she felt around in her purse for spare singles. She watched him through the store window, darting down the aisle to the back and scanning the racks. He bent down and reached for something she couldn’t see and made a beeline for the register. He came back just shy of three minutes later with a tiny paper bag. She didn’t ask what was in it, but her cheeks flushed.

They were really doing this. Her head swam with the enormity of it, but excitement choked her and made goosebumps run up her arms. She moved over and made room for him as he jerked open the rear door and eased inside. She resumed holding his hand without hesitation, needing to touch him in some way. He stared down into her face in quiet wonder.

“I can’t believe you’re right here next to me,” he murmured. She smiled up at him shyly, and he kissed her hand.

Please be okay with this. The thought drummed itself in her brain. _Please don’t let things get weird between us. Please don’t let this be a mistake..._ But Reggie was watching her so intently, and there was a gravity in his eyes that reassured her.

“It’s okay.”

“I know.” The driver was strangely quiet and occasionally peeked back at them in his rearview. They behaved themselves on their way back to campus. The driver parked in the back lot, mere yards from the lawn between that separated Reggie’s residence building from the dining hall.

“Twelve-fifty.” Reggie pushed a ten and a fiver into his palm and hurried to help Betty out of the car. They walked quickly to the dorm building. “My roomie’s not coming back tonight.”

“You’re sure?”

“Cedric planned ahead to stay at Mike’s. He said he was getting messed up tonight. I don’t want to hear him like that. He’s bad enough sober.”

“Cedric?”

“Believe it or not, he went to Pembroke.”

“Oh, wow. That Cedric. Small world.”

“I know, right?” Reggie headed to the front desk and checked Betty in on the guest list, scribbling down the time that they arrived. He nodded at the clerk and ushered her toward the double doors that led to the stairwell. 

She practically sprinted up the stairs, slightly ahead of him, and her tiny skirt indulged him with a perfect view of her assets, making his gut clench. That was it. She was trying to kill him. “Second floor,” he croaked.

“Good,” she tossed back. “I don’t think I could make it to third.” 

She did it again, inadvertently filling his mind with enticing images. Reggie huffed a laugh and caught up with her on the landing. He took her hand and urged her to the right. She leaned against his back while he fumbled for his keys. Before he crammed them into the lock, he craned himself around and gave her a possessive, sloppy kiss. They stumbled inside, and he automatically locked it, pulling her against him and resuming what they started before they got in the cab.

She was completely uninhibited, locked in his embrace and exploring his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath her palms. He smelled heavenly and felt so hot and firm. Reggie was practically trembling as he divested her of the tiny denim jacket, exposing her bare shoulders and back to his touch. She drove him back against the desk, walking into the nook between his legs, and his hands tangled in her hair again, tugging on it to make her bare her neck.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Reggie... don’t stop.”

“I can’t,” he rasped, and her throat was taut and graceful, a perfect column that begged for his lips to taste it. His hands roamed over her body, mapping out her curves and hooking beneath the hem of the shameful little skirt.

They had to see each other. Reggie didn’t bother turning on the light; he liked the slivers of illumination that invaded the dorm through the slats of his blinds as they dappled her skin, and he didn’t want to make her self-conscious and close up on him. Betty gasped as his fingers found her thighs; his caress was ticklish and teased the undercurve of her rump. Reggie’s fingertips toyed with the hem of her panties, tracing the lace trim, and she moaned for him, feeling wanton and needy. Her hands fumbled with his shirt buttons, plying them open with surprising skill.

She strained against him, finding his hardness. Reggie made a low “mmmph” of surprise as she drove him back farther onto the desk, and he helped her up, realizing she wanted to straddle his lap. This wasn’t well-behaved Betty Cooper... this was her sexy evil twin, she had to be. And she was undoing him quickly, in every sense. She shoved his shirt down his shoulders, and he quickly shrugged out of it, letting her touch him, feeling her stroke his heated flesh. He gripped her hips, and she instinctively ground herself down on him, feeling the rough texture of his slacks against her vulnerable core.

Lacey was right. The skirt was a good idea.

“Betty.” His voice husked in her ear as he sucked on her lobe, hypersensitive and tingling.

“Want you,” she urged. “I don’t know what to do, but I want you.” His eyes snapped open wide.

“You don’t know. Did you say you don’t know?”

“Yeah.” Panic filled her chest at his look of realization.

“You’ve never-”

“Uh-uh. Are you mad?” He swallowed and stroked her hair back from her face. He shook his head solemnly.

“No. I’m... wow. Really?”

“Don’t look so shocked.”

“I just... wow.”

“You already said that.” She leaned in and kissed his cheekbone.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not mad.”

“How mad do you think I am?” She kissed him between his brows, then his temple.

“Not even a little annoyed?”

“Nope.” His hands scraped her hair aside from her beautiful neck and found the ties of her halter top. He undid them slowly and returned her kiss, making her warm up again.

“I want it to be good for you.”

“I want it to be good for you.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“You can do whatever you want with me.” The straps dropped, taking the front of the top with it. He sucked in a breath. “No bra.”

“No. None.” They were perfect. The right one filled his palm with its luscious weight, satiny smooth and hot. His thumb teased the nipple, making it ruche beneath his gaze. Betty’s eyes closed in pleasure. “Please...”

He had no more words, no more teasing. The top hung like a belt around her waist, leaving her entire torso delightfully bare. The sensation of skin on skin excited her and they melded against each other, mouths engaged and sharing breath.

They made their way to the bed; he might have carried her. She felt herself shifting and settling back against cool sheets, the back of her head sinking into a soft pillow. He loomed over her, and she felt the tug of the button at her waist giving away, both the skirt and top sliding away. She heard it drop to the floor with a faint swish. He gazed down at her and his eyes burned into her, and Reggie’s face descended over her, nibbling a trail down between her ribs. She jerked and panted as he painted her flesh with hot kisses, lingering at her flat belly. His teeth grazed her, and he caught her panties, barely grazing her skin. That pushed her over the edge, just having him that close to her core. “You’ve done this before,” she whispered.

“Don’t say that.” Her hips thrust up from the bed, giving him access as his mouth drifted down her legs, taking her underpants with him. Small thrills ran through her stomach and she felt an odd dampness between her legs.

She was so beautiful. This was Betty pared down to her essence, undecorated, completely vulnerable to him, with no barriers. Her blue eyes watched him expectantly; he never noticed before how they were a deep cerulean with a hint of green, never bothered to look that closely until now. They were eating him up, inviting him to sin with her, and his hand shook when he reached down to undo his zipper.

She smiled up at him and sat up, swinging her feet down to the floor. She reached for his hand and tugged it away. Skillfully her hands jerked open the top button and pulled the zipper down slowly, painstaking making the teeth click one at a time as they separated.

“Shit,” he hissed as she tugged open the flaps and worked her fingers beneath the waistband.

“Let me.” 

“Okay.” Was that his voice sounding suspiciously like a whimper? Did he care? His pants landed around his ankles in a puddle, and she leaned forward and breathed over the bulge in his green plaid boxers.

“I like these,” she murmured, and she kissed him through the thin cotton. She smelled his musk and fabric softener, and his abdomen jumped.

“Bets,” he rasped, sounding urgent. She reached inside the open flap and found him, warm, twitching and throbbing in her light grip. “Betty! God, Betty...”

“You feel hot,” she whispered. She pulled him out from the flap, and his head twitched and bobbed up toward her soft mouth as she breathed over him. Slowly, she leaned into him and closed her plump, soft lips around the swollen, silky head. 

Every cc of blood in his body rushed down to his dick as she held him and coddled him in her mouth. Reggie’s hips jerked in response, and his eyes rolled shut with pleasure.

She was untried but not awkward as she tasted him, ducking her head over him. Her earlier words came back to him; she really did “sip.” Betty didn’t rush, even though he worried that he would reach his high too fast. His hands crept into her hair and he fought the urge to tangle themselves in it and push her more firmly onto his erection; that would be bad form. He simply held it back from her face and stroked her neck, holding onto her shoulders for support while his knees did their best to buckle. She hummed into his flesh and Reggie cursed. And prayed. And cursed again.

Her hands ran over his muscles and combed through the crisp mat of hair at the apex of his thighs. She reached up and teased one of the hard nubs on his chest, building his pleasure as she began to suck. His hips bucked, trying to shove himself more deeply into her mouth. “God, Betty... I can’t... I’m not gonna last.”

“You don’t like it?” She peered up at him with concern, gently lipping him. He groaned and then grinned, covering her hand where she held him.

“I like it too much. Lay back.” She settled back, leaving her body open to his gaze again. The mattress dipped beneath her as he joined her, finally meeting her unhindered.

His manhood occasionally grazed and bumped her, at half-mast once she wasn’t taking the lead. Reggie took his sweet time, sharing the lazy grind of his hips with her, watching the “O” of her mouth, listening to her need for him. Betty’s legs wrapped around his hips, her feet stroking his calf as he initiated her. Her rosy nipples craved his kiss; she trembled and arched up into his mouth. Every inch of her body responded to his touch, and he was thorough, so thorough. He drew her fingers into his mouth one at a time and nibbled the pulse in her inner wrist. She never knew that subtle teasing would make her body draw up so tight and burn up.

Arms. Neck. Shoulders. The pits of her elbows. Ribs. The soft hills of her breasts. The soft curve of her belly. The long, tapered thighs that parted for him with no urging. He tasted all of her. “I want you,” he breathed. “Betty...” She didn’t ponder what he was saying, all she heard was the need in his voice. Reggie gently teased her sex, barely stroking the dark blonde curls. Betty nearly came off the bed. Her eyes shuttered and she let out a small dry of desperation-

... and her eyes snapped open again when he _kissed_ her _there_. “Oh, God,” she pleaded. “Please... oh, please...”

He didn’t reply. He found her, met her where she lived. Every nerve ending welcomed him, her heat radiated up at him as her thighs quivered, and Betty’s arms flew up above her head as she arched back. 

This was why they flocked to him, and Betty didn’t want to dwell on anyone who came before her, but he was too canny... this came to easily for him, pleasing her and making her cry out his name. His tongue stroked and teased that... tiny... tender... spot...

He lingered there, probing it, acquainting himself with it, coaxing it. He dragged his tongue over her, parting her, taking a deeper drink. Betty’s toes curled. _Curled_. Her fingers gripped the pillow around the back of her head, and her voice was one long, throaty moan. She watched his dark head bob slowly, eyes closed as he focused on her. His hands mapped out her thighs and teased her curls, spiraling over it, tracing her mound. Beneath him, he felt his flesh swollen and turgid as he buried it in the mattress, but it throbbed, aching for her.

Her breathing became shallow and she writhed, hands thrashing the blankets. “Oh. _Oh. Oh. Please._ Pleasepleaseplease. Reggie. _Reggie. Please. Reggie_.” Her thighs went rigid and her skin bloomed with sweat. The contractions built slowly inside her, then expanded into waves and waves of pleasure that made her body arch. Her thighs snapped around his face, threatening to crush him like a walnut. “Mmmph!” Reggie grunted, but he sighed as he tasted her. Her release flooded his tongue and sobbed out how good he felt.

He crawled toward the head of the bed and watched her, stroking her hair. “Did you like that?” She opened her eyes drowsily and nodded.

“What about you?” she asked weakly. 

“Just give me a second.” He took away his enticing warmth and Betty leaned up on her elbows as he fumbled for the forgotten paper bag on his desk. She heard him working open the box and tearing something loose. He came back and presented the small foil-wrapped square to her. “Wanna do the honors?” She nodded solemnly and took it shyly, but his assumptions were proven wrong when she ripped it open with her teeth. “Geez...”

“Bring yourself over here.” She plucked the tiny latex ring from the wrapper and fiddled with it. “Okay. It goes this way,” she murmured.

“You sure you’ve got... it...?” There went his voice again, breaking when she tugged on him, manipulating him into the condom. The lube felt cold and slick as she rolled the sleeve down his length, taking care not to tear it. He jerked in her grip and Reggie let out a shaky breath. His knees buckled again, but this time he urged Betty back to make room for him. “I can’t wait for you anymore,” he confessed.

“Don’t wait.” He eased himself against her, covering her body, and his hips moved against her again. This time she let herself feel his bobbing flesh buffeting her thighs and sliding against her sex. Reggie felt those crisp curls grazing him even through the condom, and his movement aroused her and made her strain up towards him. Reggie reached between them and grasped himself, rubbing his slick head against her, teasing her.

There was no turning back. Betty opened up for him and pulled him down to her, cupping his face in her hands. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed, kissing her.

“I can handle it. It’s okay,” she assured him.

He watched her as he lined himself up with her, teasing her a few more times, and she felt his fingers working himself inside, parting her folds, and gradually she felt his bulge pushing at her, replacing his fingers. She felt burning pressure that invaded her haze of arousal, and her eyes looked panicked. Reggie hesitated, fearful of how she tensed up.

“Betty. Is it okay?” She nodded and forced herself to relax, and her legs wrapped themselves around his waist. He took that as silent confirmation to proceed. He breached her and heard her sharp intake of breath and grunt of surprise. She tensed beneath him, tightening around him so much that his eyes rolled back in his head. She felt the change in his body despite the pulsing pain that was invading her, and every muscle in his upper body fought to support his weight above her. His breath stuttered out of his chest in deep pants.

“I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out.

“I’m hurting you,” he confirmed. He sounded worried. That made her fret.

“I want this.”

“Then just let me move. That’s all you have to do.” He gave his hips a tiny thrust, and there it was. It still burned, but he felt slick, and he leaned down to kiss her, a plea to give him a chance. When she didn’t protest, he thrust again, another shallow movement, and she felt so right, wrapped around him so snugly.

“I want to make it right,” she whispered. Her admission moved him. In that moment, she owned him.

“I want to make love to you.” He drew out the next thrust, then pushed back in, adjusting her hips to change the angle. Her embrace tightened around him, and he kissed her again, and again. Each thrust was measured, not rushed, and she grew used to him, weathered the burn of being stretched by his girth.

She met him, arching beneath him in a hesitant dance of mating as he found a slow rhythm that she could handle, and that she eventually began to like. They stared into each other’s eyes, and she felt his body shifting, becoming more rigid. His shoulders felt rock-hard beneath her palms. The sight of his narrow hips thrusting into her was erotic. His face was wracked with pleasure, and she heard his low groans of arousal, saw the cords of muscle in his throat tighten and thrum.

“Please. Just... let me know...” She wondered if she needed to move, to adjust herself, somehow.

“You feel right. You feel perfect.” Reggie buried his face in the nook between her neck and shoulder and pushed into her more insistently, and he knew he couldn’t hold on for long. Her moans were filling his ears again, interspersed with sighs. They didn’t speak any further, because it became impossible for him. Pleasure was building up in him, and his release threatened to break loose.

She squeezed around him, and he felt her heat squeezing him even through the latex nuisance wrapped around him. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes were closed. Wait... was she?

Would she again?

There. She was writhing, moaning, crying for him, arching to meet him. He traced the contours of her face with kisses, going with it, riding her out, and it was so good, so right. She was made for him, and he held himself back, trying to give her the chance to catch up. Sweat broke out over his flesh. His muscles strained and ached, and he throbbed painfully, needing to let go... it was too much...

Too much.

Too much.

Too. Much...

“Betty.” His voice wasn’t his. That was someone else sounding so desperate, like he was hanging on by a thread. “Betty.” His hips wrung him out, and he lost control of his body. They bucked and jerked in a staccato rhythm, no longer heeding his mind or his self-control.

Those final spasms pushed her over the edge. He heard her tiny, choked cry and felt her writhing beneath him, yelped when her teeth sank into his shoulder, fingernails scoring his back. The shock of pain and pleasure yielded one last round of spasms that worked their way from his spine to his toes.

They curled. _Curled_. Reggie let out an incoherent sound of exhaustion and collapsed.

They lay together, listening to their breathing slow down and toying with each other’s hair. Reggie stared down at her where she laid sprawled across his chest, drawing pictures over his skin. “What’s up?”

“What?”

“You seem like you have something on your mind.”

“I’m trying to figure out what I’m thinking right now.”

“No regrets?” he said hopefully.

“No.” She sounded uncertain.

“Not about what happened, I hope. Not about me?”

“No. Never. Not about you. If... if this was going to happen, I’m glad it was with you.” She swallowed and suddenly felt her mouth go dry. “I’m just... really glad it was with _you_.” His hand paused in caressing her hair.

There was no going back. She owned him. Completely. Various emotions filled his chest, and he craned his face down to watch her. Frantic thoughts raced through her mind, particularly visions of walking home with her clothes on inside-out.

“You’re staying tonight, right? I’ll set an alarm?” It hit her that it wasn’t an assumption.

It was a plea.

She eased herself up and smiled at him. She rolled herself on top of him and her hair tented their faces as she kissed him. It was all the reply he needed.

She’d known him all of her life, but only now had he stopped being a stranger to her. No matter what she wanted of him going forward, all she had to do was ask.


End file.
